


The White Void

by Digi_Heart



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU from the White Lion, Altean Lance (Voltron), Angst, Family, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Digi_Heart/pseuds/Digi_Heart
Summary: Everyone is staring at him.“What?” he asks, slightly perturbed. No one says anything. “Come on guys, did I do something?”“You. . .” Allura breathes out the word and lets it hang in the air. Her face is the picture of disbelief and . . . awe?“You have—” Coran begins, and cuts himself off. He tilts his head and seems to look at Lance in a new light.“Your face is glowing,” Pidge says.Him. Altean. Part alien. He thought that title belonged to Keith and Keith alone. Looks like he’ll have to budge over, though.(But last he checked, he was just a boy from Cuba.)An Altean!Lance AU, starting from the White Lion.
Relationships: Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Allura & Lance (Voltron), Coran & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 11
Kudos: 134





	The White Void

They all return to the castle, disheveled and out of breath. Meanwhile, Lotor stands as tall and dignified as ever, a calm look ever-present on his face. Lance would love to punch it right off, because as far as he’s concerned, it’s Lotor’s fault they’re in this mess in the first place. And Lance has no problem telling him so. He’s the one who gave Allura this idea, and everyone knew that once Allura had an idea, she would not let go of it even if the whole universe exploded. 

“I think I know the answer,” Lotor says, in response to everyone’s questions. “Look at Allura.” 

The group's attention shifts to her as she removes her helmet. As Lance turns to her, he remembers to take off his helmet, too. Allura looks confused at the attention she’s receiving, but then she looks down. Her Altean marks are glowing white, just like Lotor’s. She reaches up to touch them briefly, before her eyes lock with Lotor. Allura walks forward, mesmerized. Lotor looks down at her with a smile. Lance would like nothing more than to wipe that smile right off his face. 

“You have them too,” she says, attention fixed on Lotor. But inexplicably, her eyes drift away from him for a brief moment. Her eyes meet Lance, and they widen. 

“Allura?” Lotor asks, wondering what has caught her attention. Allura’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His eyes follow to where she’s looking, and then his eyes widen as well. Soon, everyone is looking at Lance.

Well, Lance is no longer irritated. Now he’s just plain confused.

“What?” he asks, slightly perturbed. No one says anything. Pidge seems to want to say something, but hesitates. “Come on guys, did I do something?”

“You . . .” Allura breathes out the word and lets it hang in the air. Her face is the picture of disbelief and . . .  _ awe?  _

Lance stares from person to person, his concern increasing with each passing second. 

“You have —” Coran begins, and cuts himself off. He tilts his head and seems to look at Lance in a new light.

“Your face is glowing,” Pidge says, and even she herself seems to be surprised by the words that are coming out of her mouth. 

“What?” Lance repeats the words he had uttered mere moments ago, except fear has begun to creep in his voice. He wonders, for a second, if this is some elaborate joke that everyone has planned out. A sort of, ha ha, look at Lance, he’s an idiot sort of thing. And normally, Lance would not have appreciated that sentiment, but right now, he really hopes that’s all this is. His hopes are dashed when he looks in the mirror a few minutes later. 

Lance wishes he could have said something remarkably witty or intelligent in that moment he saw the marks. Even on a good day he can’t seem to do anything of the sort. Or maybe he could have made a quip, something to diffuse the situation. He was good at that. But as soon as he sees the marks, Lance’s brain decides to take a mini-vacation, leaving him incapable of speech. His mouth opens and closes a few times of its own accord, not unlike that of a dying fish. 

Lance is sure that he must look like an idiot, but it’s not as if the rest of them look much better.

“How—” Allura chokes on the word, eyes filled with an emotion he can't name, “how is this possible?”

“I don't know,” Coran says. “But from what I've heard, the only way that this could happen—” 

“Is if he were Altean to begin with,” Lotor finishes, and with those words, Lance's fate is sealed. His brain finally catches up with the words that are being said.

“No,” Lance says, panicked. “No, this is a mistake.”

“Lance,” Hunk says, looking concerned. 

“This has to be a mistake,” Lance insists. “I can't be Altean. I'm  _ not  _ Altean.”

“They were all killed by the Galra,” Allura says, and her voice takes on a desperate note. 

“Apparently not,” Pidge mutters, not unkindly, and instead looks complentative.

“Guys,” Lance starts to plead now, “ you can't actually be considering—” 

“Some might have managed to escape,” Coran says tentatively, but the small rays of hope filter through regardless, “If that were the case, I suppose it  _ may  _ be possible that—” Coran cuts himself off, unable to finish the sentence. The message still gets across, however. 

Silence rests over the group. 

This has to be a mistake. If he were part Altean, he would know. His family background wasn't a mystery. It had never been a mystery. In fact, before this moment, he would have been quite sure that he would be able to trace his family roots right back to their origins. 

Lance knew where he came from. Or at least, he thought he did.

Lotor is the first to break the silence.

“I understand that this is a big revelation to you,” Lotor says, “but we don’t have time for this.”

Lotor’s words bring everyone back to reality. Lotor takes his eyes off of Lance and addresses the whole group. 

“I’m afraid that only those with the Mark of the Chosen can go on from this point. The rest of you will have to stay here.”

Lance is too overwhelmed to say anything. Coran, however, has no qualms in doing so.

“Absolutely not!” he protests. “What about the monster?”

“It is a guard keeping the unworthy out,” Lotor explains, “It won’t hurt those with the mark.”

Lotor's eyes are steel, gaze firm and unyielding. He’s not going to back down. Coran tries to reason with Allura.

“Allura, please,” Coran says, putting his hands on her shoulders, “it’s too dangerous.”

These are the words a parent would say with love and fear to a child. Allura understands this. But Allura is not a child. She hasn’t been one in a long, long time.

Allura puts her hands on his arms.

“Coran, I must gain some kind of alchemic knowledge in Oriande,” she says resolutely. “Both to save our own lives and bring peace to the universe.”

It was always for the good of the universe. Never for her own good.

With those words said, Lotor turns around, as if the conversation is over. 

"Lance?" Allura asks. "What about you?"

With Allura’s words, everyone is reminded once again of this new revelation. Lance feels everyone’s eyes on him. It’s not a new sensation, except their gazes usually only contain exasperation with one of Lance’s latest antics as usual. Everyone’s eyes are on him, but this time, their gazes are filled with something else. Apprehension. As if he is something different now. Is he?

The thought of going on a mission now, especially one led by Lotor, doesn't sit well with Lance, so he'd honestly rather not. But there was no way that he would leave Allura alone with that creep. 

Altean, huh? The idea of him being Altean was quickly beginning to warm up to him. No one could ever tell Lance that he was too inflexible. He was good at adapting, rolling with the punches. He could work with this. The Alteans he knew were strong, brave, and kind. If this turned out to be some sort of trap, Lance would be ready. Lance would protect Allura. He'd save everyone. 

He wasn't just a human anymore. He could actually do something. Be something.

"I'm coming too," Lance says, looking directly at Lotor. Lotor looks back at him with an unreadable expression. 

Then, Lotor breaks eye contact. 

Already, Lance is feeling victorious. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Lance can tell that Lotor isn't too happy with him tagging along on Lotor and Allura's little date, but Lance has never cared what  _ Lotor  _ of all people thought of him, so he's not going to start caring now. 

And Lance himself? He’s not too happy with any of this. The audacity of that guy! Lotor came up with these crazy theories, which was fine with Lance, because the guy could do whatever he wanted. What bothered Lance was that Lotor apparently felt like he had to go and drag the whole team into proving his theories. Lotor didn’t appear to care about the dangers this posed. Whether this was because he was confident they would succeed or simply didn’t care if they all died was unclear. So now they had ditched the rest of the team and were flying into the gaping white void. The three of them were together, but Lance had never felt more alone.

Debris rushes past him. Up ahead, the white lion’s face forms. Lance can feel the instinctive fear rising in his gut, and he feels the urge to stop right where he is. He glances at Allura and Lotor, but they do not look back at him. They are looking ahead, undaunted. So he must do the same.

A beam forms in the lion's gaping mouth. Lance waits for a few moments for instructions, and then realizes that none are coming. 

"Uh, guys?" Lance is about to say, but he doesn’t get the chance to before everything flares and turns white.

  
  
  


It takes a moment for Lance to regain his bearings. He realizes his eyes have closed instinctively out of fear, and opens them, only to find that he is definitely not where he was before. 

They fly past purple clouds and soar into the magenta skies. Large crystal formations hang in the air, etched with what look like glowing symbols of some sort. Even if he doesn’t understand any of it, doesn’t understand any of  _ this,  _ it’s—

“It’s amazing,” Allura says, looking around them with wide eyes. Lotor doesn’t respond, his eyes staying trained ahead. 

“Yeah,” Lance says quietly, his repertoire of humorous responses failing him. He’s sensing a pattern here. “It is.” 

They leave their crafts on one of the formations.

“None of my research or travels have prepared me for this,” Lotor says. “From here, we are on our own.” 

Alone. With Allura. And  _ Lotor _ .

It is not very comforting to think about. 

  
  
  


Beads of sweat trickle down Lance’s face. He stares up at the pinkish sky that is now starting to give way to some blue. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can pretend like he’s on Earth, rock climbing. His hand grasps a slightly loose handhold of rock, and he almost slips. He holds back a yelp. Never mind. It’s probably not good to think about Earth right now. He has to focus on what’s at hand. 

“I wonder if Father climbed this mountain,” Allura says, grasping a handhold above her, sounding only slightly out of breath, much to Lance's jealousy.

“You know,” Lotor says as he climbs, “I envy you growing up with King Alfor. I always wanted to be an explorer, and learn about the universe.”

“My father was only interested in conquering it.” It’s not hard to pick up the distaste in that one word: Father. “He once put me in charge of a planet for a year, running the quintessence mine and getting to know the local population.”

“Rather than employ the usual Galran methods of subjugation,” Lotor says, pulling himself up and joining Allura in staring out into the distance, “I worked alongside the leadership of the planet, learning their customs.”

At this point, Lance finally catches up with them, managing to heave himself up. He really wants to collapse right there and never move again, but he joins Allura and Lotor instead, standing slightly behind them. 

“We’d only extract as much quintessence as could be replenished.” Lotor’s voice grows slightly fond. “I enjoyed my time there quite a bit.” There’s a small beat, and it's nice. Too nice of a note to end on, especially considering who exactly Lotor’s dad was. Lotor turns towards Allura, briefly making eye contact with her before turning away from her completely. Lotor doesn’t bother sparing him a glance before walking away. When he speaks again, contempt enters his voice.

“My father found out what was happening. He ordered me to destroy the planet.” Lance and Allura stare at Lotor’s back. 

“I refused,” Lotor says, as Allura takes a few steps in his direction, “and he sent me away.” 

“At least you stood up for those people,” Allura says. Lotor stops walking.

“He destroyed them all,” Lotor replies, bowing his head a little. “I was powerless to stop him.”

“I spent the following centuries searching for clues about my Altean heritage. Another culture destroyed by Zarkon.” Lotor did not call him father. 

“I’m glad you’re here to help me now,” Allura says, fixing him with a serious stare, despite the fact that Lotor is still turned away from them. “I never would have gotten here without you.”

Lance says nothing.

When Lotor turns back around to face them, he has a small smile on his face. His eyes are fond. They only look at Allura. And Allura is wearing an expression that he has never seen her wear before. Her head is tilted slightly, mouth curled into a genuine smile. And her eyes shine with the same emotion as Lotor’s. It’s unmistakable. 

In the distance, a white beacon of light shines. 

  
  
  


They arrive in front of the tall, white structure that glows with etheral blue lights. The architecture reminds Lance of the Castle. In the doorway that is covered in shadows, a white beast forms in the distance. Lance can hear its growls. Allura and Lotor don’t move. Lance stays perfectly still, not daring to break the silence for once. The white lion stays in place for a moment before turning around and padding away. 

“We’re not going to follow that thing, are we?” Lance asked. “It could be a trap.”

“At the moment, it’s our only option,” Allura says. Lance wants to disagree, because he can think about fifty other things they could be doing, such as  _ leaving,  _ but swallows down his protests because at the same time, he knows she was a point. His friends are suffocating with each second that ticks by, so they don’t have time to waste. Currently, the white lion is their only lead. Hopefully, the secrets they discover will also get the Castle working again, although to be honest, Lance still isn’t quite sure how the Castle even works.

The room they have entered is dark, save for the light that filters through the open doorway. Their shadows on the ground stretch out in front of them.

“Look at these ancient markings,” Allura says in wonder. “They’re beautiful.”

“What do they mean?” Lance wonders.

“The temple of the alchemists. The mysteries we seek are hidden somewhere deep inside.” Lotor says with the same confidence, as always. 

Up ahead, the white lion waits in front of the doorway. Then, it turns around and goes down the stairs, and Lance slowly loses sight of it as it does so. Allura’s and Lotor’s faces are the pictures of determination, but Lance can’t find it in himself to muster the same expression. He doesn’t have a good feeling about any of this. They all wait a beat before they follow.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Lance finds himself in a huge room with large statues sitting on thrones on either side of him. Their faces are blank, but they have the telling Altean marks that seem to glow almost white.

“The sages of Oriande,” Allura says in recognition, taking her helmet off and walking forward. Lance and Lotor do the same as they catch up to her.

“My father told me tales of their exploits. But I always assumed they were just children’s stories.”

“The life givers. They were the first Alteans to unlock the secrets of Oriande. The beginning of Altean alchemy.” 

Allura looks in awe at the statues. At her left side, Lotor looks at her.

“Allura,” he says, “the tales you grew up with were not just children’s stories.”

Lance is about to say something when he hears a loud cracking noise, the crack of stone. All three of them whip to the left in shock at the offending statue, which has just decided it would be a great time to come alive and lift the hand clenching a staff. Actually, it seems as if the statue on the other side of them has decided it would be a great idea to come alive as well. The two statues cross their staffs together, forcing the trio to dodge and roll out of the way.

With agility Lance wished he possessed, another statue runs right up in front of them and brings the staff down, the bladed end whistling through the air. Allura is standing in front of the group, in a perfect position to receive the most damage. Lance holds his hand out, reaching for her, as if that will do anything. Lotor instinctively twists his body away from the staff, staying behind Allura. The moment is quick, but before he knows it, Allura is keeping the staff at bay somehow, arm stretched out in front of her, holding a glowing blue stone. The wind from the change in momentum breezes through them.The statue stops moving, and Allura cautiously lowers the stone. 

“Great Protectors,” Allura says. She cannot completely hide the fear in her voice, but it remains strong in the way that Lance has always admired. “We seek passage through your land.” 

Allura drops to one knee.

“I bring you this gift,” she says, lowering her head and presenting the stone in front of her. The stone glows bright blue, and a projection appears above it. Lance and Lotor decide to take the cue and drop to their knees as well, bowing their heads in reverence. Reverence for what, Lance isn’t entirely sure. If he’s being honest, a lot of this stuff is flying over his head. 

Nonetheless, the statue seems appeased and rises out of its attack position. It uses the hand not gripping the staff to gently take the stone out of Allura’s hand. Behind them, the other two statues that had awoken uncross their staffs. They continue forward.

Once again, the white lion is waiting for them at the end of the room they enter when they descend the stairs. 

“Now what?” Allura is beginning to sound exasperated. Lance can relate.

“I don’t know,” Lotor says, “but be prepared.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Lance says sarcastically.

None of them take their eyes off of the creature in front of them.

“We may yet have to prove that we’re worthy to be here,” Lotor says.

“What, the glowing marks weren’t enough? Wasn’t that the whole point of them?” Lance wonders, not really expecting an answer. 

“Evidently not, if you’re here,” Lotor scoffs, briefly letting his too-good-for-you facade slip into something slightly more petty.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to —” Lance cuts himself off as the white lion disappears and fades to nothing right in front of them. He hears a rumbling noise and whirls around in tandem with Lotor and Allura to see the large, heavy door drop shut. 

“We’re trapped,” Allura says as they look in front of them, before they hear another rumble. They look up to see the ceiling slowly lowering itself onto them. If they don’t act fast, it will crush them.

“There must be a clue,” Lotor tells Allura, panic making his voice go hard. “Something a trained Altean would recognize.” 

The words are unhelpful to Lance, as he’s probably the farthest thing from a trained Altean, but he searches frantically anyway. For what, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. They all look around the room for a few desperate moments before Allura shouts.

“There!” she says. “It’s like the bridge of the Castle! A teleduv!” They all run up to the teleduv look-alike, Allura placing her hands in a familiar position. It’s akin to what she normally does to operate the Castle. She closes her eyes. Lance can feel his stress levels rise as the ceiling gets even closer to the tops of their heads. 

But soon enough, whatever Allura has done works. The teleduv beneath Allura’s hands glows white, too. The ceiling glows a blinding blue, then white. Instantly, everything fades away as the white takes over his mind, too.

When he opens his eyes, Lance is standing in the sky. It’s achingly similar to Earth, with white fluffy clouds that he hasn’t seen in so long, the clouds he’s missed. There is no floor beneath him. Just white. Lance looks left and right, but does not see Allura or Lotor.

“Allura?” he calls. “Lotor?”

A growl steals his attention away from his current predicament, tossing him into another one. The white lion seems bigger and scarier now that he’s up close, more like a normal lion from Earth. It charges forward before leaping right at him.

He dodges the first attack, but the lion is faster than he expected. 

“I can’t give up,” he tells it. His voice echoes. It doesn’t sound right. “I'm Altean. I can help now. I can't give up."

The lion, predictably, does not answer. It continues its assault. 

For some reason, he’s beginning to feel strange. Like an outsider, watching his body move impassively. He needs to stay focused. He grabs his bayard, and it transforms into his rifle. One shot. That’s all he needs. All he’s ever needed. One shot, and it’s over. But the lion is moving around too much for him to get a good shot. He lets the blue lasers from his gun fly, but it misses every time. 

With each missed shot, he feels his frustration build. At the same time, his frustration is quickly giving way to desperation.

“Please, let me have this,” the words tumble out of his mouth, unbidden. Beads of sweat appear on his face as his breathing grows rapid and shallow. “Just this once.”

The lion growls and leaps at him.

Lance’s movements grow more and more clumsy as he tries to twist his body to match the lion’s movements. He doesn't stop to grow suspicious at how fast he's gotten this tired. In fact, he finds he can't really think straight at all. 

The lion jumps at him again, but instead of aiming for his chest, it aims for Lance's bayard, catching him by surprise. It clatters to the ground, slipping from clumsy fingers. He doesn't have time to let out a cry as the lion lands on top of him, the force of the blow stealing the breath from his lungs. Lance's heart is pounding, threatening to break out of his chest. He's failed. Again. 

Apparently being Altean hadn't helped with his self-worth, either. Now, he'll die here alone, exposed for the useless and worthless person he really is. He should have accepted it by now, but his eyes sting with tears anyway.

He sees the lion's gaping jaw through blurred vision, and then he opens his eyes.

  
  
  


He is back at the entrance. So is Lotor.

“No! No!” Lotor is saying, anger and distress evident in his voice, but Lance isn’t listening. His breathing is still loud and heavy in his ears. Absently, he touches his cheeks, but somehow, he knows they have stopped glowing, and that his marks are gone. In their place are wet tracks that trail down his face.

Lance closes his eyes.

  
  
  


He doesn't quite remember it, but they make it back, and Allura gets the ship running again. 

“I couldn’t have done it without Lotor,” she says, looking at him gratefully. He looks momentarily surprised at being addressed, then smiles at her.

“You are a true Altean alchemist. Oriande was for you, not for me.” Despite all that's happened, his tone is as even and calm as ever. Lance looks at him skeptically. It's impossible for someone to be  _ that  _ composed. Allura does not share Lance’s inhibitions, giving Lotor a smile in return. 

Everything is okay. He laughs and jokes with the others. It's as if nothing has changed. Lance congratulates himself internally for handling things so well. But when Lance is alone in his dim room, he cannot hide from the confines of his mind.

Him. Altean. Part  _ alien.  _ He thought that title belonged to Keith and Keith alone. Looks like he’ll have to budge over, though. 

Lance spends fifteen minutes staring at nothing. Brooding isn't his thing. That was also Keith's thing. But a part of him is still numb from shock. Wasn't he just supposed to be a boy from Cuba? 

Lance wonders if this will make him worth something now. If this is the big break he's been waiting for. With this revelation, some part of him hopes that maybe he'll get those cool Altean superpowers that Allura has. But he feels unchanged, which, now that he really thinks about it, is to be expected. If he really did have something like super strength or shapeshifting, those abilities most likely would have made themselves clear during his early years as a child. And since he doesn't remember any odd looks from his parents or any suspicious doctor’s visits, it's probably safe to say that he's not getting those superpowers. It's a right shame, in Lance's book. This truth has caused him nothing but trouble. The least it can do is bring some 

good into his life. 

All his life, Lance has wanted to be someone special. He grew up in a large household, himself as the youngest. They were all doctors, engineers, employed in the military. Doing something respectable with their lives. When asked how they were so good at their jobs, his siblings would all shrug and say, “It was what I was born to do.” And they weren’t wrong. Healing hands. A need to invent. A love for their country. All of these traits, manifested early in childhood, making it obvious to everyone around them what they would become. A nice story from their youth that explained when they knew their destiny, wrapped in a nice little bow for applications, essays, and family visits. Their lives were a perfect jigsaw puzzle, perfectly put together. He loved his siblings, but he would be lying if he’s said he hadn’t envied that.

Lance had thought he was born to be a fighter pilot. 

Lance was not a bad pilot, but he wasn't the best pilot, either. He was good, but not the best. He had never been  _ made  _ for it. But he wanted it. So, so badly. When Lance was younger, he would clumsily make his way through the dumbed down flight simulators. After several painful attempts, the instructor would flash Lance a dismissive smile, lay a hand on his shoulder, and ask him to move along. Meanwhile, he would see the other kids, the special kids, the ones who “just had that spark in them,” get praised as trailblazers to the future. The future that Lance wanted to be a part of, but never got invited to.

In life, your abilities are what get you places. They get you friends, fame, and fortune. Lance wanted all three of those things. Being a fighter pilot was his ticket to happiness. And he almost made it, too. But almost isn't good enough.

Being Altean didn't help him with his flying skills. Being Altean didn't make him a better person. So what good was being Altean then, anyway?

Whatever. He didn’t need help from his bloodline. In fact, it had outright rejected him today. So he would do the same.

He would become better on his own.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Another day. Another battle with the Empire. It's almost starting to grow monotonous. It seems as if the allure of being in space and being in a new environment is starting to wear off. 

Lance thought things would change now that they had Lotor on their side. Well, he didn’t quite know if he was on their side. But Lotor claimed to be. Wasn’t Lotor, like, the prince or something? 

When he brought this up to Lotor, he just scoffed. 

“I don’t quite have the sphere of influence you seem to think I have,” he said, and left it at that. In the end, Lance shrugged. Guess there was drama within the Empire, too. 

Either way, it meant that the war continued on. 

He's not quite sure how it got to this point, but all he knows is that things are shooting at him and he needs to take those things out. 

It's a little harder for him to fight in Red than it was in Blue. Their styles are just so different. Blue liked range. Blue liked precision, shooting from afar. Red preferred getting up close and personal. As much as Lance loves Red, they never got on quite as well as him and Blue. Red knows it too. Red will never tell him, but Lance knows that as much as Red likes him, Red misses Keith. Lance misses Keith too, but he'll never admit it. Lance also misses Blue. He misses his brothers and sisters, his parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. His friends on Earth. His home. Lance tries not to think about that too often. If he does, he's worried he might start crying out of nowhere, and  _ that  _ would be embarrassing. So he usually ends up saying nothing at all. 

Still, he has to admit, this way of fighting is . . . thrilling. It fills him with adrenaline, giving him the rush that he needs to forget about his worries and troubles and insecurities and just  _ fight.  _

He fires, and they fire back. Smirking, Lance decides to kick it up a notch. He dashes forward in Red, and, lifting up a mighty claw, swipes through the ships, tearing through material that Lance can't name. Before he can be caught in the ensuing explosion, he darts off towards the next target. 

He is a rushing stream, a gush of water, a sweeping wave that slams his enemies into the rocks ashore.

As the battle continues, his battle strategy devolves until all he's doing is body slamming into his enemies. 

Lance grins, feeling Red's power course through him. It's not the giddy grin he normally wears in Blue, this one is sharp, tinged with a fierce desperation. His gambit could go wrong at any time. He has to keep an eye on his surroundings, the environment around him, and it is all he can think about. It consumes his mind, fills his thoughts in ways he's never allowed it to before. 

This is what true focus is. 

"Lance," a voice says in his ear, startling him out of his reverie. 

Lance jolts, halting abruptly. 

"Yeah," he says, trying to pretend as if he hadn't gotten lost in his thoughts. "What's up?" 

"We're heading back to the castle," Hunk says. "Uh, Lance? You okay? You seem kind of out of it, buddy."

Oh. The fight's over. He hadn't even realized. 

What was  _ wrong  _ with him?

"Yeah," Lance says. "Yeah. Sorry, Hunk. I'll come back now."

  
  
  


Once he starts pushing himself during missions, it becomes easier and easier to keep doing it. Take a blow for someone here. Tank a blast for someone else there. It's all instinct, Lance learns. He helps his team however he can, pulling off stunts with more and more reckless abandon. It doesn't matter whether he's in Red or if he's on a ground mission. Now, he doesn't even have to think about it. He just  _ does.  _

He also makes sure to give it his all in their diplomatic endeavors. He spends less time fooling around and flirting. He hasn’t really felt up to it lately. Instead, he stays by Shiro’s and Allura’s sides, trying his best to support them however he can. A dashing wink here. A charming smile there. The suits he has to wear sometimes tug on his skin, stifling him until he feels he can’t breathe. He only fiddles with it within the confines of his room. Once he steps out, he is confident. The picture of perfection.

It’s an improvement. He is better than the Lance from before. The Lance who wasted time goofing off, who stood by and let others get hurt instead of doing what needed to be done, the Lance who never took things seriously. He is  _ better _ now. 

But he doesn’t feel happy. 

It’s getting harder and harder to ignore, and the fact that he still isn’t happy and secure in himself frustrates him. 

Hunk pulls Lance aside one day.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says. His posture is casual, but his eyes are alight with worry. “How have you been? Feels as if we haven’t talked in forever.”

“I’m good,” Lance says, letting out a confused chuckle as he raises an eyebrow. “And we’ve all been kind of busy lately.” 

Busy coping with all of the stress that’s catching up to them. That’s been catching up with them ever since Shiro disappeared. Since the swap in lions. Since their friend left the team. The stress that’s always been there, but they’ve all learned to ignore or push to the back of their minds. 

“Cool,” Hunk says. Lance knows there was a reason for this. Hunk’s always been awful at concealing his ulterior motives. 

“Listen,” Hunk says, “are you . . . okay?”

Lance feels a pang. He wishes he himself was better at concealing his emotions. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, and now he’s paying for it.

“Of course I am,” Lance smiles, “I just said I was good, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but—” 

“I’m  _ good,”  _ Lance emphasizes. “Great, even.” 

Lance turns around and quickly retreats before Hunk can protest further, eager to leave him and this conversation behind. 

When he lies down to sleep that night, he is struck with a sense of hopelessness and fear. 

_ Why are you here?  _ His dreams echo in the white void where he lays.

Lance looks away in shame. He can't bear to look at the answer that stares him in the face.

One day, Pidge corners him in the empty hallway. Lance is sweaty and tired from his recent training session, and he had been on his way to his room. He didn’t really feel like talking to anyone right now, but he plasters on a smile as Pidge eyes him suspiciously. 

“Training, huh?” Pidge asks. Lance can already see the gears in her brain turning. “You never used to do that before.”

“You, my friend, have obviously not been paying attention, then,” Lance says in that faux condescending tone Pidge hates. “I’ve always trained. Gotta get better somehow. Not that I wasn’t great already.”

“Not as much as you’re doing now,” Pidge says, remaining undeterred. “In fact, you’ve been acting differently lately.” 

“Maybe you’re just seeing a different side to me,” Lance suggests. Pidge narrows her eyes.

“Okay . . .” she says. Despite the fact that she still looked quite suspicious of him, she does not seem to want to push further. 

“You want to help me out for a little while?” she asks him, face brightening a little. Lance knows, of course, what she is referring to. Lance has always spent a fair amount of time in Pidge’s room, helping her out with her inventions. He doesn’t understand ninety percent of anything she talks about, but he’s never needed to use his brian for manual labor. It’s always been their usual method of hanging out. Well, that and video games. 

“Aha, maybe later,” Lance says, keeping his tone up despite feeling horrible at the way Pidge’s face falls. “I’m feeling kind of tired.” 

Lance can’t bear to look at her anymore, so he turns away from her and continues walking to his room.

“Uh, okay,” Pidge's voice fades as he gets farther and farther away from her, but the confusion rings loud and clear.

Lance plays video games alone that night until his eyes sting from staring at the screen for so long and his head throbs with a mild headache. But it’s fine. Physical pain distracts him from the pain in his mind.

  
  


Once again, Lance finds himself back in Red, blasting at anything that moves. Maybe before, Lance would have taken the time to crack a joke over the comms, but he can't quite find it in himself to say anything. The comms have grown quieter in general, lately. The stress must be getting to all of them. 

He does a general sweep, looking for his teammates. He's pretty sure this is something more suited for Shiro, but lately, Shiro has been less worried about the others than usual for some reason. They all seem to be fine — but wait. The Blue Lion seems to be getting cornered. 

Allura needs his help.

He dashes over to her, faster than usual. Red must sense his growing distress.

"Lance?" Allura's voice filters in through his comms, sounding surprised. 

"I've got you," he says.

Red takes a swipe at the ships swarming Allura. In a fantastic shriek of metal and other material, they go down. All but one. He is only aware of this when the ship's laser is pointed directly in front of Red. 

Lance's eyes widen in alarm. He thinks he hears Allura yelling, but he can't make out what she's saying over the roaring of his ears. On instinct, he and Red move as one, darting out of the way and narrowly dodging the ensuing blast. He can hear the ominous hum of the beam whizzing past him. His heart is racing. Too close. That was too close. 

"Lance!" Allura says, and although fear dominates her tone, there's anger there, too. He's not sure what she has to be angry about, and he chalks it up to the general stress of the situation.

"I-I'm fine," he says. It doesn't come out as confident as he would like it to. "I'm fine." 

"We'll talk about this later," Allura says, sounding irritated. What had he done now? There was no time to think about it now, though. He had to focus. 

It ends with a victory for the paladins. After silently congratulating himself and Red, he notices that he's feeling a little more tired than usual. Maybe today he'll take a day to relax. 

Or not, he thinks, as Allura is waiting for him outside the hangar. Even though Red was supposed to be the fastest lion, Allura has gotten here before him. 

"Hey, Princess," Lance says. His voice doesn't betray the slight nervousness he's beginning to feel. Maybe he really  _ has  _ done something. "Miss me?"

"What was that out there?" She says, cutting right to the chase. 

"What was  _ what?"  _ He asks, voice automatically rising in response to his growing defensiveness. Over what, he's not really sure. 

"Jumping in front of me like that?"

"Allura, you were surrounded. I had to help."

"I had it handled."

Lance doesn't respond, but the silence conveys his skepticism. Allura grows even more irritated.

"I was planning on using Blue's ability. I wanted to lure as many as I could in one area, and then fire." 

Oh. That tactic sounds familiar. Almost like —

"Like what you used to do?" Allura reminds him. 

"Y-Yeah," he says, surprised. "How did you know?" 

"When I was piloting the Castle, I also kept a close eye on all of you, in case I could be of any assistance. That means I've also grown familiar with all of your fighting styles."

"So," Lance says, a grin growing on his face, "does that mean you technically  _ learned  _ from me?"

"Yes," she sighs, looking at his face and subjecting herself to his teasing. "I suppose you're right."

"Awesome!" He pumps his fist in the air, feeling genuinely excited. His heart feels so light and warm, better than it’s felt in a long time. It's rare for anyone, least of all the Princess, to follow  _ his _ example, of all people. 

She smiles a little, at his enthusiasm. But then, she frowns, seeming to remember something. 

"I've digressed," she says, face growing serious. "Lance, what you did was incredibly reckless. Please exercise more caution in the future."

"Relax, Princess," Lance says with an easy-going smile. "It worked out in the end, didn't it?"

"I suppose it did," Allura says stiffly, ever-immune to his charms. "Nevertheless, please be more careful."

"You got it," Lance says, but he doesn't really mean it. He got the job done, didn't he? And it's not like anything happened to him, in the end. He did the right thing. 

"You can count on me."

He did the right thing. 

A narrow miss. 

He did the right thing. 

An almost too-late dodge. 

He did the right thing.

Lance takes a hit meant for someone else. He can't remember who. All he remembers is green, green that is fuzzy and moves and voices in his ears. The hit lands him in the pod for days. When he gets out, someone catches him swiftly and he lands in their arms, dazed but alive. He blinks up at the person who caught him. Hunk.

“Lance!” he says excitedly, eyes shining. “You’re okay!”

Weakly, Lance gives a thumbs up.

“I’m alive,” he reiterates. 

The rest of the team looks just as relieved as Hunk, but they all seem subdued, somehow. Something is wrong. 

  
  


He dreams that the white lion is pinning him down again. But it's a gentle takedown. So gentle it's almost sad. 

_ Why are you here? _

His mind is blank. He can't think.

He doesn't have to. He knows the answer.

_ I don't know,  _ he says, before the lion opens its mouth and swallows him whole.

  
  


It takes a few more days before it happens.

Lance walks into the common room for what he realizes has been a while. These days, he mostly spends his time alone, either on the training deck or in his room. All of the paladins happen to be there when he walks in. All eyes turn to Lance, and Lance fights the urge to freeze. The tension in the room, the tension that has been growing, slowly and steadily ever since the journey to Oriande, increases. 

Although the paladins continue to speak with one another, the silence between them and Lance is deafening. He could easily weave himself between Hunk and Pidge, he knows. Pretend that nothing has ever changed. 

But something  _ has  _ changed. Lance doesn’t think things will ever be the same way they used to again. 

“So, are we just going to ignore the elephant in the room?” Pidge asks loudly, and all conversation ceases.

Pidge has been acting weird lately. He doesn’t know when it started, but the relationship between them has changed, and not in a good way. It’s almost like she’s avoiding him now. And whenever they do happen to be in the same room, Pidge will never fail to give him a single, pointed glare, before walking out of the room. At this point, he’s learned to ignore it, but he won’t lie: it stings a little.

“Pidge, what are you talking about?” Allura asks with a strained smile, as if she knows exactly what she was talking about but had hoped Pidge would keep quiet about it anyway. 

“Lance,” Pidge says, and from the lack of shock on everyone's faces, it seems that everyone has been aware. Lance has always known he’s never been as slick as he thought, but it still stings that everyone can see right through him so easily. Is he truly so flimsy? So weak?

Lance fakes a laugh.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," Pidge says, not fooled. 

"Pidge," Allura says warningly, and then turns to Lance with a somewhat gentler expression. 

"It's just that . . . you've been acting quite different as of late," Allura says, diplomatic as usual. 

“How so?” Lance asks, even though he really doesn’t want to know.

“You’ve been a bit more . . .” Allura is hesitant, but the others are quick to pick up the slack.

“Quiet,” Hunk offers.

“Rash.” Pidge’s eyes have never once softened, and she continues to glare at him. 

“If I’ve been acting weird lately, it’s probably because I’m just tired.”

Hunk deflates at Lance’s stubbornness. 

“Come on, Shiro,” Hunk implores at the figure leaning against the wall. “Tell him.”

Shiro is silent for a beat too long. 

“. . . He  _ has  _ improved a lot recently,” Shiro admits. “Battle-wise. I don’t quite see the problem here.”

“Don’t quite see the problem?” Pidge repeats. “ _ Don’t quite see the problem? _ ”

“Pidge,” Lance says. He doesn’t like how Pidge seems to be just getting angrier and angrier with every word exchanged. “There’s nothing wrong. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Of course  _ you  _ don’t,” Pidge mutters, and his insides bristle at the way she says  _ you.  _

“Yeah,” Lance says, beginning to feel riled up. His patience with Pidge and her weird moods lately has run out for today. “I  _ don’t  _ understand. I don’t understand anything. Sorry. Guess I’m just too stupid.”

Pidge’s fists clench.

“You want me to spell it out for you, huh? You just don’t get it, do you?” 

“You’ve been more gloomy, more subdued, and more miserable,” Pidge says, holding up a finger for each offense. “Whenever we go out to fight, you’ve been more impulsive, reckless, and irresponsible. It’s as if all you see is what’s right in front of you, like you have tunnel-vision or something! You haven’t been yourself at all lately, and it’s freaking everyone out!”

Lance grits his teeth, feeling uncomfortable and exposed, but unable to back down. At the same time, guilt churns uncomfortably in his stomach. Is he that much of a bad influence that even his mere presence drags everyone down?

"You're getting as reckless as Keith!" Pidge snaps, and at the mention of Keith's name, everyone stills except for Lance, who is just getting started.

"Good," Lance snaps back without missing a beat, and Pidge recoils as if she is looking at something incomprehensible to her. And Pidge cannot deal with the incomprehensible. 

The room grows silent. The tension in the room is replaced with awkwardness. It's been so long since they've brought up Keith. Not because it was taboo. Not out of maliciousness. Not because Keith suddenly became Voldemort. It was more of an unspoken thing between the paladins. Don't bring up the past. Bringing up the past brings up memories. Bad memories. Move on. It's time to move on, move ahead. Look towards the future. Don't look back.

Lance can’t hear anything besides the sound of his own breathing. 

Pidge is rigid, taut with anger. 

"I can't do this," she says.

She shakes her head, rubs at her eyes, and walks out of the room.

“Lance,” Hunk says gently, “you can’t keep going on like this. Please, just talk to us.”

Everything is falling apart, and it’s all his fault. The team is fractured, split, ripped at the seams. He was the loose end. Keith was wrong. It was Lance all along. 

Lance’s eyes glisten with tears, much to his frustration. He’s always been such a crybaby. Yet another thing he’s loathed about himself.

“I’ve done  _ better,”  _ Lance says. “I  _ am _ better.”

“This has nothing to do with the battlefield, Lance,” Allura says, finally dropping her neutral tone in favor of something more worried. Caring.

“We’re worried about  _ you _ , my boy,” Coran says quietly. His eyes look soft and concerned. He cannot stand to look at them for too long, but at the same time, he can’t look away. 

He hates himself so,  _ so  _ much. 

The self-hatred rings in his mind, clear like a bell. The dark, angry, mindless, but  _ true  _ thoughts he’s had begin to resurface from the place he’s buried them under fighting and training and stressing and sleeping. But he can’t run. He can never run.

It’s too much. He’s choking, drowning in the sea that he has created. His tears are flowing freely now. He can’t think. He’s weak, he knows, for crying and breaking down like this in front of everyone, but at the same time, he can’t stop. 

A strong, warm pair of arms engulf him. Lower him gently on his knees on the ground. Lance buries himself in Hunk’s chest, crying silently, body wracked with shudders. Hunk holds him the whole time without saying a word. Coran joins without hesitation. Allura wraps her arms around him tentatively at first, but is no less steady and firm than the others. He doesn’t know where Shiro is, and can’t bring himself to care right now. 

Is this real? He wonders blearily. For a moment, he feels like he's not even here, like he's outside his body looking in, but when he blinks, it's over. 

When Lance falls asleep, he is carried to his room. A few hours later, a small figure enters Lance’s room. Stops at the side of his bed. Looks at Lance’s face. The tired bags under his eyes. The dried tear tracks on Lance’s face. Notes how he never looks this at peace anymore, not when he’s awake. Lance shivers from the slight chill of the Castle. The figure moves nimbly and silently to her room, and grabs a warm, fuzzy green throw blanket. She quietly makes her way back into Lance’s room. Gingerly, she places it on top of Lance. She watches him for a minute. Then, she leaves.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Things don't magically get better after that, of course. They never do. And he knows that things will never be quite as they once were. He won't lie and pretend that he's okay with any of that, but it's something that, with time, he learns to accept. 

Hunk lets Lance help him cook. Lance has never been a bad cook himself, but he knows that no one can compare with Hunk. 

It's nice. Lance can't remember the last time they've hung out like this. 

“You know,” Hunk says, and Lance stills. He has the feeling that this is not going to be the sort of lighthearted conversations they usually have. “I don’t think anything’s changed all that much . About you.”

Lance blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that. Then, as he processes the words, he gives Hunk a deadpan look.

“I know,” Hunk laughs nervously, easily guessing what Lance is getting at, “just found out you were Altean this whole time, and now you have like, no idea where you come from, and all that.”

At Hunk’s words, Lance feels the familiar wave of frustration, and a similar wave of powerlessness and the hopelessness that comes with it. Then, Hunk turns, and really looks at Lance, quelling his thoughts briefly. 

“You know more than you think you do.” 

Lance opens his mouth to protest, but Hunk’s words stop him.

“You are Lance McClain. Grew up in a large, loving family. Has always wanted to be a fighter pilot. Former paladin of the Blue Lion, now a paladin of the Red Lion. Part of Voltron: defender of the universe.”

Hunk’s voice goes quieter, here. “Best friend of Hunk and Pidge. Part of the Voltron family. With all of us. Pidge. Shiro. Keith.”

Hunk doesn’t stumble over Keith’s name. He does not pause.

“Allura. Coran,” Hunk says. “Me.”

Lance’s eyes sting, and he hastily rubs his eyes with his arms. Hunk, gracious as ever, pretends not to see.

Lance dreams of home. Of sandy shores, waves that lap at his bare feet. Of the sun that beats down from above him. Of the screams and laughter of children. His family. It is nice. But for some reason, he is sad in that dream. He does not know why.

A few days after his embarrassing meltdown, Pidge approaches him. It makes Lance slightly nervous, but then Lance remembers finding the green, fuzzy blanket on top of him, and suddenly he's not nervous anymore. She takes a deep breath.

"Lance," Pidge says, sounding small and sad, and not like Pidge should sound at all, "I. . . I just wanted to apologize. For the way I yelled at you the other day. And, uh, I guess. . . for, just. . . the way I've been treating you lately." 

Lance gives her an easygoing smile, except he actually means it for once. 

"Don't worry about it," Lance says. "I’m sorry, too. I've been off my game. I guess we've all been."

Pidge smiles tentatively.

"So, uh, we're cool, right?"

"Yeah."

This is getting kind of awkward. They've never been  _ this  _ sappy before, especially not with each other. Pidge breaks the silence.

"You wanna play some video games?"

"Yeah. I'd like that."

  
  
  


"Hey, Allura," Lance calls when he sees her in the common area. It's a rare occurrence.

"Hello, Lance," Allura says, smiling at him. It dims a little with concern. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine," Lance says. "Great, actually." 

"That's good to hear."

"I actually wanted to ask you something," Lance says seriously. 

"What is it?" Allura asks, slight suspicion entering her tone. She probably thinks this is another joke.

"I'm not really sure how to ask you this," Lance says, rubbing his neck uncomfortably, "so I guess I'll just say this directly. Could you teach me more about Altean culture?"

Allura blinks. It's clearly not what she was expecting. 

"Of course I can," Allura says, still looking surprised. "I never thought you'd be interested in that sort of thing."

"It's a part of me, you know? How could I not be?"

“Of course,” Allura repeats, but it’s different. Like she’s looking at him in a new light. "I'd be happy to."

They start talking more. At first, Allura is slightly hesitant to talk too much: her explanations are tentative and surface-level. But when Lance starts asking more probing questions, and starts showing he's really interested, Allura, in turn, becomes more open and forthcoming in their conversations. Lance likes hearing more about Allura's, and his own, culture. It’s still strange to call it his own culture, but for once, he is not filled with disgust and hurt. Instead, he feels warm. Lance also likes the way Allura's eyes glow with pride as she talks about her heritage. 

One day, Allura asks Lance a question of her own. 

"Lance," she says, sounding as formal as ever, except Lance can tell now that formal doesn't mean cold and uncaring. "I wanted to ask you . . ."

She hesitates. It's almost as if she doesn't want to ask this question at all. Lance raises his eyebrows questioningly, and Allura takes that as encouragement to continue.

"Is what happened . . . because you found out you were Altean?"

_ Not just that,  _ he knows, but the words are lodged in his throat. Lance has had time to think it over, the reason for his breakdown.

He doesn't ever want to tell anyone what happened with the white lion. When he felt so weak. So helpless. So powerless. In spite of everything he's learned. In spite of everything he is. 

Despite the churning in his gut that comes with recalling that particular memory, he knows that that wasn't the reason either. In fact . . .

"I don't think there really was a reason," Lance says, and Allura looks at him. Lance shrugs in response. "I mean, does there have to be?"

Lance looks down at his hands. Callused, from the time he's spent training and fighting. 

"It was probably . . . a combination of stuff. Stuff I've been dealing with." 

As he says the words, he knows it's true. It was never  _ just  _ about being Altean. His insecurities have always been there, but he's always been adept at pushing them down. Finding out all this new stuff about himself, throwing himself into one stressful situation after another was all probably the straw that broke the camel's back. 

But it all sounds stupid when Lance thinks about it, so he abruptly looks back at Allura, closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck with a smile tinged in shame as his heart pangs. 

"I probably scared you by making that huge scene, huh? I bet it was awkward to see. Sorry, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

The smile on his lips feels stretched and forced, but he keeps it up. When he opens his eyes, Allura is looking at him with a solemn expression on her face. 

"Lance," she says, "that's not what I meant. If something is bothering you, then I  _ want  _ you to come talk to me. Or any one of us. We would all do the same for one another. Please don't think that you are a burden, or a disgrace."

Lance is shocked at the blatant honesty of her words, and he can't quite formulate a response.

"Thanks," he says, but his voice comes out embarrassingly choked. If Allura notices, she doesn't say anything. 

  
  


_ Why are you here?  _ The lion asks in his dreams. But he has an answer ready this time.

  
  


"I'm really glad you asked," Allura admits one day. "To learn more, I mean. I've been feeling more and more . . . homesick, I suppose. And the closer this war draws to an end, the more I'm reminded that . . . I have no home to return back to. It makes me feel a bit lonely." 

Allura looks at him, and then looks away, as if in shame. 

"Allura. . ."

"I have Coran, I know. But at the same time, I can't help but miss everyone else. My family. My friends."

The words are familiar. Lance has thought those same things many times. Only, he realizes, at least he has a home to go back to. He has not just been left with his memories of a home that once was, but never will be again. He can’t imagine the pain Allura must feel every day. He’s ashamed to admit that it’s never really crossed his mind.

"You don't have to feel alone," Lance says quietly, "because you're not. You have me. You have all of us."

Allura meets his eyes again. 

"And you're wrong," Lance says. "You do have a home to go back to. With us. Earth." 

He can't quite read the expression on Allura's face, so he keeps talking. Rambling, really.

"I don't know where exactly you could stay, but I think you could stay with me and my family? If you wanted to? I mean, I don't want to force you or anything. I mean, I guess you could stay on the ship if you wanted to, but I think that might be lonely, too. My family's pretty big, so you'd never be lonely with them. And the paladins'll come visit, too. My house isn't as great as a castle, I know, but — " 

Allura cuts him off by throwing her arms around him. 

"Lance," she says, and her voice is the most sincere and earnest it's ever been, "thank you."

"No problem, Princess."

Allura eventually pulls away from him, and they sit in comfortable silence for some time.

"Lance?" 

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind. . . telling me more about Earth? About  _ your  _ culture?"

"Really?" Lance says, and it's his turn to be surprised.

"Well," Allura says, "I should like to know more about my home, I think." 

The corners of her mouth tug upwards, and hope shines in her eyes. Lance's eyes widen at the implications of her words, and then he can't help but break out into a grin. 

"Awesome," he says. Then, he begins to speak. 

Life continues. Lotor eventually turns traitor. Shiro reveals himself to be a clone. Keith comes back. Their world is once again shaken up with so many new changes, but Lance finds solace in one thing: he knows exactly who he is. He is Lance, a simple boy from Earth. He is Lance, pilot of the Blue Lion. He is part alien, part Altean. He is the same Lance who’s always wanted to be a fighter pilot. Who has always wanted to protect his friends. Nothing about him has changed. Nothing about him needed to change. And he's glad for it. It's a realization that has taken over seventeen years to learn, but he thinks he’s learned it. He won't lie and say that he doesn't sometimes lay awake at night, wondering if this new closeness with the others, this new normal, has anything to do with him at all, and that maybe everyone only cares about him because he's Altean now, but one smile from Hunk and one fondly exasperated glance from Pidge, his oldest friends, reminds him that he is no different from the teenager who first stumbled onto the Blue Lion. And he is okay with that. 

Lance keeps improving, as both a fighter and a pilot. He often enlists Allura's help in training, as they've grown inexplicably closer. 

In fact, he thinks they've all grown closer. At least, they're a far cry from the ragtag group of a few years ago. The realization makes Lance beam, but he quickly masks it with a smirk instead. He slings his arms around the people closest to him: those people happen to be Shiro and Keith.

Keith looks slightly awkward, but doesn't pull away. Shiro smiles fondly at Lance. 

"Is it hug time?" Hunk asks.

"I think it is," Pidge grins, and they both come over. 

Coran doesn't hesitate to join in, and Allura follows soon afterward.

In the middle of the group, where Lance hopes he goes unnoticed, Lance allows his more teasing smile to drop in the place of a more fond, sappy one. 

He doesn't know where they'll go from here, but for now, Lance will accept this time he has, right here, and right now. He's with his family. He is loved. He is Lance. That's all he needs. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for taking the time to read my fic. This was done as a request! Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! I will also be posting deleted scenes on my [tumblr](https://digiheart1.tumblr.com/), so feel free to check that out as well! If that link isn't working, my tumblr username is digiheart1. Come and say hello! It's pretty empty as of now, but I'm hoping to eventually post more there and on here as well. Thanks again!


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